Introverted
by Roulade
Summary: Introvert - "to direct your mind inward and examine or dwell on personal thoughts, feelings, and motives." And for a day and a night, that's exactly what Kratos did.


**Edit: forgot to add in my disclaimer, but it must be pretty obvious a poor pastry roll like myself couldn't possibly have any rights to Tales of Symphonia or Namco, right? Right? (I'm silently hoping for someone to prove me wrong...)**

**Disclaimer: Tales of Symphonia belongs to Namco**

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Kratos had always been an unsociable person, and he was well aware of the fact. Even now he still clearly remembers that certain day, over four millennia ago, when he came to realize his own standoffish tendencies - that five-year-old girl's wailing, like nails on their kindergarten class' chalkboard, had permanently scratched the "introvert" label onto his conscience and, although he was honestly unshaken by the painful cries and accusing stares of the other children, he made a note to himself to choose his words and actions more carefully in the future. It would be another decade of dodging flirtatious advances, ducking out of drinking parties, and sidestepping camaraderie, before Kratos had finally made any progress to the title of "friend", a title given to him by three half-elves no less.

The gentle-hearted Martel, the first to befriend him after he had taken her brother, Mithos, under his wing, had said to him, "_It's because you're always so calm and comment-less that others mistake your good intentions. We understand because we're half-elves and we can sense the goodness in your life mana, but honestly, we still have a hard time working with your callousness sometimes_," she laughed and her voice was like a caressing breeze through the trees. "_But one day, I'm sure you'll finally meet someone who can really see_ you_, both the kind you and the stoic you, together._" Then Yuan, the third of their group, had cut in remarking how anyone who was able to understand such a split personality must be a saint, to which Kratos promptly turned away from his sparring match with Mithos and made a wild, but half-hearted swing at the blue-headed half-elf, victimizing several strands of hair in the process when the man dodged the precarious blade. At the time, he had been curbed by Yuan's following cries of indignation and Mithos' snorts of laughter at the lively banter, but now, when those vibrant days were nothing but a distant memory of four thousand years gone, Kratos realized he had never gotten a chance to tell Martel that there was no such thing as "good" (or "bad") life mana.

Well, he had to admit there may have been some truth in what she said. The little toddler clutching his finger and wobbling by his side was proof of that much. And the toddler's mother, darting through the crowded market of the seaside town they were currently traveling through - the woman who had not simply seen past his introverted barriers, but embraced them, as well as the empathetic center they enclosed - was the first. She was the first to smile warmly at him and remark how kind he was after he apathetically described to her the gruesome fate of all exsphere experiment subjects; she was the first to ignore his backlash of logic and violent shoving, resolutely staying by his bleeding side as they were surrounded by a legion of Cruxian angels; she was the first to out-reason him in a war of words and ideals and actually make him waver, believing for a moment that there was still hope left for the dying worlds; she was the first to cry for him, when his emotions had numbed to the fact that his only remaining friends thought nothing of his life, one binding him to a seal, the other trying to break him. She was the first to hold him even closer the more he tried to push her away. And slowly but surely, things began to change.

As Kratos and his two-year-old son waited patiently for a gap in the crowd to let them through, a livid shout of, "YOU CALL THAT A SALE?! WHAT A RIP-OFF!", rose blaringly above the din of the bustling city, turning curious heads and stopping a dog in its tracks from relieving himself on a nearby corner.

"... I suppose we should go rescue that shopkeeper from your mother." Both father and son looked at each other and, for a moment, Kratos could have sworn the boy knew exactly what he meant.

After an hour-long battle of playing middleman between an irate fisherman and his fearless wife, he was finally able to peel the vexed woman from the stall with a minimum of injuries (mainly a red hand print on his face and a bite mark on his forearm - from his wife of course). The result most likely could have been much more disastrous had it not been for Kratos' pint-sized ally (the toddler's insistent tugging at his mother's coat and constant interruptions of 'Momma-momma-momma' had been a great asset, and he knew it was working when she turned on Kratos with an ear-splitting, 'DON'T THINK YOU CAN DISTRACT ME WITH OUR SON'S CUTENESS!').

When all was said and done, their stomachs filled, their hyperactive son all played-out, and bedtime stories told, all three tucked in for a good night's sleep while the campfire died out and Kratos let his thoughts wander through the star-dappled sky. He thought about how the rest of the world continued to change and rush forward into the future, and how the stars had remained timeless, their characteristic clusters and speckled rivers populating the same points in the sky night after night. Perhaps it was that resoluteness, that distance he felt between himself and those celestial bodies floating somewhere high above, that inspired Kratos to be just as reserved, just as distant and steadfast – that way, maybe life wouldn't pull him along so quickly. Maybe he wouldn't have to feel the turbulent ups and downs that came with friendships and bonding, the high tension and trauma that came with every battle and a blade missing your heart by inches; he wouldn't have to feel the joy of achieving his dream, or grief when the dream finally dies; he wouldn't have to feel the guilt of watching, powerless, while his bonds fell apart – Yuan rampaging through ranks of soldiers in anguish and turmoil, Mithos falling into the abyss of despair and vengeance – while Martel's blood ran cold, the warmth seeping through her brother's fingers...

If only time could stop. If only he hadn't made these mistakes. Kratos had found himself pondering over these impossibilities over and over again. So, when Mithos had set forth to split the world and revive Martel by halting their growth through the cruxis crystals, Kratos had believed that was enough to put everything back in order. To put life back in order. But, life had left Kratos behind and by the time he finally acknowledged it, he had seen over fifty lifetimes-worth of change – four thousand long years of change, civilizations come and gone, the decline in technology, the rise in exsphere development, countless sacrifices – and his mistakes, the discrimination, still scarred his conscience right next to the age-old label of "introvert". They were a testament to his failed attempts at connecting with others, trying to do the right thing - whether it was attempting to stop a war with three wayward companions, or tongue-lashing his kindergarten classmate to tears for trying to capture an injured, bird-like protozoan that had appeared in their back schoolyard.

A loud rustle and surprised yelp to his side alerted Kratos to the fact that his wife's habit of shifting in her sleep had, once again, accidentally woken up their two-year-old who had been previously sleeping like a rock between them. The protozoan in his dog-like form, who was resting behind them like a headboard, softly whined at him in exasperation. His wife tended to cuddle in her sleep with the closest object within her reach – sometimes it was her pillow, sometimes Kratos, sometimes the protozoan's tail – and tonight the closest object so happened to be their son. Kratos gently pried his partner's fingers off the squirming boy, kissed her palms, and rearranged the tossled blanket over mother and child.

Lying on his side, Kratos silently watched over his son, making sure the child could peacefully drift back into slumber without being snatched into his mother's doting arms. But, as the night wore on and Tethe'alla reached its peak in the dusky sky, the boy's curious eyes and restless fidgeting suggested that he wasn't drifting off to dreamland any time soon. And so, like every other night his infant couldn't sleep, Kratos carefully lifted the child off the bedding, a finger to his lips in a 'shush'ing motion so as not to wake the bedheaded mother next to him. And like every other night, he trotted off into a nearby pasture with his son happily bouncing atop his shoulders and the feeling of tiny hands slapped tightly around his scalp.

So, what kind of person was he now? Kratos wordlessly asked the blinking icons in the sky overhead, searching for some sort of response in their glowing visage. He was still as unsociable and low-spirited as the discriminated half-elves of Exire, still handling human ranch fugitives with all the sensitivity of salt on an open wound; he was still limping along, impaired by his insecurities and weighed down by his past failures in life as a war hero of ancient times, as a mentor, and as a friend. But, somewhere along the way, he suddenly found himself able to stand up a little straighter with a little more courage to look back at the trail of burdens dragging behind him, only to realize it was her who was shouldering him up and looking back with him.

And together, they could strive towards the foreseen change that the world, that _he_ had been waiting for all along. With her by his side, he knew he might be able to see through her eyes, what she saw looking down at the two worlds as they coasted across the sky on their aviators, and what she saw in him when she tenderly brushed the hair from his eyes. As long as she was here - his partner, his friend, his lover, his wife - _Anna_... and Kratos let his mind wander again with that last comforting thought.

As a radiant glow began to creep up the sky, the cold and distant stars fading away into the purple haze, Kratos felt the tiny fingers tangled in his hair slacken their grip. Gently, so as not to wake the sleeping toddler, Kratos slowly lifted the boy from his shoulders and settled him into the crook of his arm. As he stared quietly at his son's sleeping face, he brushed the strands of unruly hair from the boy's forehead, like Anna did for him – it was a bold action that would have left him abashed at the thought of doing such an intimate thing not too long ago.

Yes, something was definitely different about him. Something had finally changed, finally started the turning of the cogs which had been frozen still for so long inside him. He may not know what these changes in him meant, or where these new-born feelings will eventually lead to, but Kratos was assuredly content with one thought. His family was here with him, right now - so, with the woman he loved in his arms, his son raised up on his shoulders, he could put his faith in the future and that was enough for him.

"Sleep well, Lloyd."


End file.
